


who knows how to make love stay ?

by singagainsoon



Series: "The Things That Stay" 'verse [9]
Category: Pacific Rim (Movies)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Fix-It of Sorts, Ghost Drifting, Hand Jobs, Hook-Up, M/M, Movie: Pacific Rim: Uprising (2018), Okay There's a LITTLE Plot, Pacific Rim: Uprising (2018) Compliant, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn, Porn with Feelings, Precursors Newt, Rich Top Newt, Science Boyfriends, Top Newton Geiszler, hermann just wants to talk, i'm fixing the fact that they didn't fuck
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-07
Updated: 2018-06-07
Packaged: 2019-05-19 10:34:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,604
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14872109
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/singagainsoon/pseuds/singagainsoon
Summary: Hermann drops by Newton's office at Shao Industries' impressive headquarters to talk research and breakthroughs, but Newton has other ideas.





	who knows how to make love stay ?

The entirety of the Shao Industries building is intimidating enough on its own, but standing knock-kneed in front of Dr. Newton Geiszler’s office door is enough to bring sweat prickling at the slope of Hermann’s high forehead. He has no reason to be intimidated - Newton may have money now, acclaim and prestige, a new job, a new life that he’s built without Hermann’s involvement; but that hardly makes him any less the man that Hermann has known all these years. He is still Newton. He will be glad to see Hermann, glad to hear of his recent breakthrough, glad that Hermann has taken the initiative to seek him out -  _impressed_ , even, that Hermann used his PPDC credentials to get past security and into the corridor where his office is located.

Hermann glances at his reflection in a decorative glass pane, smooths his hair flat with the palm of his hand. His eyes are wide - too wide, perhaps, and the strange shape of his face too thin - and his lips are dry, but there is a chance that Newton will not notice, even under the harsh scrutiny of the fluorescent lights.  _Don’t be ridiculous, Gottlieb,_  he chides himself, straightening the front of his shirt.  _This is a business call, nothing more._

He takes a deep breath and composes himself the best he can before raising a trembling hand to knock on the door.

There is a pause, thick and dark where Hermann gathers his breath in his throat and holds it like a lover; then there is a beep, muffled on the other side of the door, and it slides open to permit him inside.

The sight of Newton in a black three-piece suit nearly makes Hermann’s leg give out, his  _heart_  give out. Newton quirks an eyebrow at Hermann, and suddenly he feels small and slight and warm all at once, sentimental fool that he is. Hermann wills their neural link to spring back to life, to buzz happily and prickle at his fluttering heart the way it should have, but it is little more than a ripple in some dull place in the back of his head.

“Hermann!” Newt says, a flat statement more than anything else, disguised poorly as something meant to be pleased, and Hermann shifts his weight to slant against the brace of his cane.

“Newton, listen, I’m not certain we spoke long enough the other day. I’ve had a -”

“Alright, buddy, look - I got a meeting in like thirty minutes. Big, important meeting. Lots of big, important people - you know the drill. Normally, I’d just kick you back out, honestly, but I mean, you came all the way down here…” He trails off, turning his back to Hermann to shrug his suit jacket off and toss it haphazardly over the back of his office chair. Newton seems almost defeated, resigned to the fact that he will have to fill those thirty minutes with humoring Hermann. He undoes the cuffs of his black shirt, setting the cufflinks on the cluttered top of his desk.

Hermann sags with relief, his features stretching into a smile reserved only for Newton Geiszler’s beloved green eyes. He had been gearing himself up for some grand argument the entire way over. This was already a great deal easier than he had expected. “Oh, Newton, you’ve no idea how pleased I am to hear that.”  
  
“Hermann, I’m really crunched for time right now,” he says, untucking his shirt, loosening his vest. Hermann savors the quick flash of exposed skin just above his belt, the bright ink of his tattoos sticking out against the black fabric. He fights the beginnings of a blush. “So I’d really prefer it if we just, like, got this done.”

“If it’s inconvenient for you, Newton, I can always come back at a more opportune time, though I must say, I’m rather glad to see you.”

“Nah, nah. No time like the present, right?”

Before Hermann has a chance to bristle, to let his confused offense show on his face, Newton takes a step forward to close the distance between them. Hermann’s heart pounds against his ribcage, rings in his ears. The room hazes, like Hermann has found himself in some half-dream that he cannot shake, does not want to pull himself from. Newt puts his hands on either side of Hermann’s face, the angles of his high cheekbones a sharp contrast to Newt’s soft hands. That is one thing that has not changed. When their lips meet, it sends stars shooting behind Hermann’s eyes, entire constellations exploding in all directions. He blushes furiously beneath Newt’s hands, a tangible redness manifesting in heat and what could easily be mistaken for a particularly bad sunburn.

Newton still tastes the same, though a bit more like expensive whiskey where it was something akin to cheap beer all those lifetimes ago. He drops his cane to the ground with a startling clatter, letting his guard go crashing down with it. Hermann’s arms find their way easily around Newt’s neck, his fingers making themselves at home in Newton’s meticulously combed hair. He is solid and warm, though perhaps just a bit more built beneath the sleek lines of his designer clothes. The bulk of him is as familiar to Hermann as the backs of his own hands. He shouldn't be doing this. What would Alice think if she walked in on the two of them?

Newt pulls away briefly, his breath hot on Hermann’s burning face. “Not the hair, buddy. Remember that meeting? I can't be- You gotta be out before that-”

“Oh,  _damn_  the meeting, you bastard - I’ve missed you.” Hermann cuts him off with another kiss, allowing himself to spiral completely beyond any logic that might have been left in his head. It’s like falling, like breathing, like existing in exactly the way he was made to. This was where he was meant to be, fitted snugly against Newton’s body, wrapped in his arms and his heart and his head again. It is just as sweet as that first time, just after they’d saved the world, tangled in awkward limbs in their cramped PPDC-issued quarters.

He sighs into the kiss, into Newton, and wonders just exactly what has changed in the days since their last meeting at the Moyulan Shatterdome. Perhaps all Newton had needed was time to think things over, time to consider just how much he had missed Hermann after all. He bites at Hermann’s lip, prompting a soft groan, and fumbles with the very top button of Hermann’s shirt, his fingers resting just beneath Hermann’s fluttering pulse.

Newton kisses a trail down Hermann’s neck, popping his shirt open as he goes, exposing the skinny expanse of his heaving chest to the air-conditioned room. Hermann cannot keep down the strangled moan that catches in the hollows of his throat when Newt’s fingers dance down his body, over his nipples, past the little bumps and curves of his ribcage. Whatever business Hermann had come here for initially is long forgotten. A fire burns out of control in the very pit of Hermann’s stomach, between his thighs, blazing a trail in all directions. He struggles to undo his belt but gives up halfway and reaches instead to palm Newton through the expensive fabric of his trousers.

“Ah,  _fuck_ ,” Newton mumbles against Hermann’s sternum, hips bucking just enough into Hermann’s hand to embarrass him. He bites down in reliation, and Hermann cannot keep himself from arching his back greedily. His instinct is to grab for Newton’s hair, but he thinks better of it and grabs his ass instead, pulling their hips flush against one another. The hard line of Newton’s erection against his own is nearly enough to send him careening over the edge of the proverbial cliff, but Hermann does not want this to be over as quickly as it had begun. He grinds against Newton once, just hard enough to elicit a soft whine. Newton’s eyes close for a moment, eyelashes dusting the tops of his pink cheeks, soft lips partied in a silent gasp.

Hermann smiles. It has been years, yes, and it is true that he had never allowed himself to be intimate with anyone else, but he finds himself slipping into it as easily as a well-worn shirt. Newton backs him into the crisp edge of his desk, pinning Hermann between his hips and the piece of furniture. Newton kisses him fiercely, and when he slips his hands between them to undo Hermann’s belt buckle, Hermann does not bother to stifle the moan that slips past his lips. The mere brush of Newton’s hands against him is enough. It has been far too long since he’s been this close to Newton, since he has been touched by hands other than his own.

All at once, Newton pulls back from the kiss and flips Hermann around. It is thrilling, dizzying. Newton yanks Hermann’s pants and underwear to the ground in one swift, rough motion, leaving him vulnerable and exposed and wanting. Hermann turns his head to look over the curve of his shoulder at Newton’s pink-cheeked face. Hermann bites at his lip, glances at Newton in an attempt to appear demure. He feels the tips of his ears go bright red.

“Darling, I-”

“Shut up,” he hisses, wrapping an arm around Hermann’s skinny waist to pull him back against his body and keep him there. The possessive splay of Newton’s hand across his belly makes his cock throb in time with his wild pulse.

“But, Newton-”

“Deadline, remember?” He whispers, nipping sharply at Hermann’s earlobe. Hermann whimpers and spreads his hand over Newton’s, covering it, keeping it against him.

Newton peppers Hermann’s shoulders in kisses so soft that Hermann almost feels like he is ten years younger, floating finally in the reality he had spent these lonely years bringing to memory at night. His eyes flutter, moth’s wings beating against the glass of a lightbulb, and he tips his head back. He could turn to mush beneath Newton’s hands, melt into him and become one person. Newt takes the hint and hoists himself onto his tip toes to nose teasingly at the naked flesh of Hermann’s neck. Hermann whines low, needy and impatient in his throat and reaches back for Newton’s other hand with the intention of bringing it around to join the one positioned dangerously close above his erection.

“Hands on the desk,” Newt says, dragging his teeth along Hermann’s fluttering pulse point. His hand presses into Hermann’s stomach, as much of a warning as it is a sort of protective security.

“ _Mmm_ **_,_ ** N-”

“Hands on the desk, or I stop. I stop and you leave and we forget about this whole thing.”

Hermann does as he is told for once, gripping the hard edge of the desk until his knuckles turn white, attempting to balance his weight between his arms and Newton’s form behind him. Newton grinds against the curve of his ass, rubs his thumb teasingly along the sensitive skin of Hermann’s lower abdomen. Hermann wonders absently if Newton can feel the flip of his stomach, either against his hand or somewhere in his head, like old times.

Newton gives his neck one last bite before dropping his head to rest beside the sharp jut of Hermann’s shoulder blade. He traces his free hand up Hermann’s Bad Side, over the scar tissue on his thigh, up along the odd, disjointed angle of his hip, and he shudders. His nerves are on fire, lit up with some electrical overload that amplifies every whisper-soft touch of skin-on-skin. Newt pinches one of Hermann’s nipples between his thumb and index finger, and Hermann jerks forward, sticking his chest out and pressing his ass back into Newton’s hips. What he really wants is to stay in the space of this moment forever, suspended in some hazy half-pleasure - or, rather, that is what Hermann thinks he wants until Newt takes him mercifully in his hand. His hips twitch forward instinctively, seeking blessed relief in the form of friction.

“Oh,  _Newton_ , I- ah, that’s-”

Hermann vaguely registers a flash of embarrassment at the fact that he cannot keep the half-moaned words from tumbling out of his mouth. Newton gives his hand an expert twist, the way Hermann loves. For everything that has happened (or _not_ happened) between the two of them, he is still the Newton who knows the way Hermann likes to be touched. Newt squeezes him a bit harder, pumps his hand faster, and Hermann’s head falls forward, his shoulders tense and hunched. He ruts helplessly against Newton's hand, feeding the fire burning between his legs. Anything he tries to articulate becomes garbled, small gasps and strings of incoherent begging. Newton remains quiet with the exception of his shallow, ragged breathing coming in little puffs of warmth against Hermann’s back. He is painfully hard - Hermann can feel it pressing urgently against his ass and the very top of his thigh. A wave of pleasure, of adrenaline shoots from deep inside Hermann's core and he screws his eyes shut to keep himself from exploding in Newton's grip.

"Goodness," he breathes, hips jerking.

Newton slides his hand upwards once more, slowly this time, and rubs his thumb in circles over the head of Hermann’s cock, smearing precum. “C’mon, Herm, we don’t have all day,” he mutters, rolling his hips forward and sighing against Hermann’s spine. Hermann is almost embarrassed at the way he's leaking steadily, though now hardly seems the time to be concerned about  _embarrassment_. At the gentility in his voice, Hermann is unsure whether to cry or come, or some unfortunate combination of both.  

What happens, though, is neither of the two things. Newton takes hold of Hermann’s hips and spins him around, bringing the two face to face once more. The hunger sitting just along the corner of Newton’s eyes, bare and almost too large without his glasses to frame them, makes Hermann feel as though his insides have been sucked clean out of him. It is the way he imagines a roller coaster must feel.

In one impressive swoop, Newton pushes the clutter from his desk onto the floor. Ordinarily, the sound would have made Hermann flinch and the mess would have set him squawking, but the feeling of Newt’s hands firmly cupping his ass is just a bit more of a pressing matter. He hoists Hermann onto the desk with ease, slides his hands around to stroke his skinny white thighs. Hermann breathes heavily, shakily. Newton studies him.

Hermann parts his legs unconsciously, offering himself up to whatever attractive and frightening thing that has settled over Newton like a brand new coat. It has never happened like this before - he doesn't care if Newton is late for his meeting, if he shows up tousled and smelling of Hermann and sex, if the meeting is to take place in that very room and they walk in on the pair tangled helplessly in each other.

They lean forward at the same time, meeting each other halfway for an urgent kiss that lights a fire between Hermann’s lungs. There is some lingering thread still, a straggling bit of their neural link pulling them together and teaching them to move in rhythm again. Newton breaks the kiss to press his mouth to Hermann’s angled jaw, the soft spot just below his ear. Hermann moans and thrusts his hips up into Newton’s the best that he can, aching for contact again. His long fingers manage to undo Newt’s expensive belt before he flits upwards to begin work on his shirt.

“Leave it,” Newt says, pushing Hermann’s warm hands back down to the bulk of his erection straining against the front of his pants.

“ _Liebling-”_

Hermann’s brittle show of protest is ended abruptly by Newton pushing his finger into Hermann’s mouth. He sputters but only momentarily before sucking the digit obediently, studying the pleasured twist of Newton’s face through half-lidded eyes. If he could tuck a moment away to keep for the rest of his life, he thinks he might choose this one.  

Hermann’s hands are shaking - his entire body is trembling with some strange cocktail of pleasure and anxiety, high-strung nerves and  _wanting_ so strong that it hurts him - but he manages to free Newton from the confines of his trousers, pushing them down over the soft flesh of his ass and letting them fall carelessly to the floor.  

When Newton pulls his finger from Hermann’s mouth with a wet  _pop_ , Hermann’s first order of business is to fold him in his arms and kiss the soft line of his jaw, the corner of his mouth. He is so involved in trying to send his thoughts to Newton, to reviving the dormant bond between them, that the feeling of Newton’s finger pushing into him comes as a very pleasant surprise.

The moan that escapes him feels wrenched from the deepest part of him, and it echoes shamefully off the pristine walls of Newton’s office. Hermann tosses his head back nearly hard enough to give himself whiplash and spreads his legs further apart. He bunches the silky fabric of Newton’s vest in his hand, wishing he could claw it off, let it fall to the floor in shreds.

“ _Newton_!”

Newton only grunts in response, curling his finger inside Hermann and leaning over him to bite at the sensitive skin at the base of Hermann’s throat. Hermann hooks his good leg over the curve of Newton’s hip, rocking hard against the length of his finger and trying to pull him closer. It has been so long, so far and out of reach, that every fiber in Hermann’s body aches for Newton in a way that he could not have anticipated. No amount of dreaming could have ever prepared him for how absolutely overwhelming it would feel to have Newton this way again, to be had by him.

Hermann jams his hand roughly between them to grab for Newton’s erection, relishing in the gasping moan he makes. Newton rests his head in the crook of Hermann’s shoulder briefly, panting; he smells of expensive cologne, aftershave distant like something in a dream or a memory. Hermann loves him, still.

It takes Newton a silent moment to compose himself, regain some bit of control and squeeze a second finger into Hermann. He cries out, feeling suddenly like he might faint. The intensity is white heat, like staring up into the sun on a cloudless day. Hermann twists his hand around Newton, working steadily despite the dull ache in his joints and the stars forming at the fizzy edges of his mind.

“ _Herm._  Jesus, dude-”

Hermann’s heart leaps into his throat. This is exactly what they needed: a reminder of how much they love each other, how deeply they are connected, how they  _need_  each other in every sense of the word. Newton shudders against his body, presses his hips into Hermann’s gentle hand. He manages to straighten himself, curve his back and stand upright. Newton moves his fingers, fighting to find a rhythm with the motion of Hermann’s hand along the length of his cock. Hermann bucks against the sensation of Newton’s fingers inside him, stretching him. It is terribly difficult to focus this way. The desk is hard and cool, the surface of it a stark contrast to the heat of their bodies, of Hermann’s body.

Hermann reaches forward to grab Newton’s silk tie and wraps it in his fist. He yanks Newton down to his face to kiss him roughly, breathing Newton’s air as though it is his own. In a way, it is.

Newton slides his fingers from Hermann, who whines against his lips, into his slightly-parted mouth. His leg slips from where it had been wrapped around Newton and dangles lamely against Newt’s leg. Hermann wants always to remember Newton this way, keening and needy and pink, like the first time the two had fumbled their way through sex with each other.

They should lock the door, shut out Shao Industries and the rest of the world. Hermann would permit Newton to step away from him for that, if only he’d return and swear on both their lives to never let him go again. Newton swats Hermann’s meticulous hand away from him and moves to position himself between Hermann’s thighs before he can manage any sort of complaint. Hermann breaks the kiss to rest his nose against Newton’s, unwilling to sacrifice any bit of closeness.

“Newton, I- it's been so long, and I’ve-”

“I know,” Newt mutters, voice softer than it had been earlier, a little ragged and just husky enough to make Hermann flush when he speaks. Hermann wraps the tie around his hand once more, pulling it tighter around Newton’s throat and tilting his head to the side, accommodating the shape of his profile to resume kissing him. He wants this, more than he has ever wanted anything.

Newt’s hands come to rest on Hermann’s narrow hips, his thumbs rubbing kind circles into the skin there. Something springs to life in some long-unused part of Hermann’s mind, crackling like static. It is white noise, then something not unlike the faint beating of a drum, of a pulse. Newt bites Hermann’s bruised bottom lip, breaths shallow and labored. Hermann cannot keep his free hand from snaking into Newton’s hair and anchoring itself in the soft brown strands; but this time, Newton only pushes Hermann’s skinny legs further apart.

Hermann is moaning, sighing, before Newton even begins to enter him. Pinned between the desk and Newton’s surprising strength, Hermann can only tighten his hold on Newton’s tie and moan a string of words that he hopes Newton recognizes as a declaration of love. Newt gasps, easing himself in.

The white noise in Hermann’s head is a rhythm, a heart beating, the pleasant fuzzy feeling that accompanies a few too many drinks. He rolls his hips down against Newton’s length, forcing him deeper, and gives his tie a sharp tug. It is too much and not enough simultaneously to satisfy the hungry void that has opened itself in Hermann's heart.

“ _Newt._ ”

Newton gives Hermann’s uninjured hip a reassuring squeeze, dips his head to blaze a trail of kisses up Hermann’s neck and along his jaw, across the sensitive spot that Newton knows he loves. He is struggling to catch his breath, so Hermann eases up on the tie and stills the movement of his hips against Newton’s own.

“It’s okay, I got you, Herm.”

There are two hearts thumping frantically in Hermann’s chest, in his head, when Newton places a soft, lingering kiss on his lips and thrusts his hips forward, sharply. Hermann’s cry of surprise, of pain, melts into a moan at the sensation of Newt’s hand against his aching cock. He releases the tie altogether in favor of locking his arms around Newton’s neck to support himself and brings both of his legs to wrap around Newton’s middle. They find a rhythm easily, and it is Drifting for the first time all over again. Hermann rolls his hips upwards into Newton’s expert hand, against the thrusting length that fills him.

It is a supernova, it is the collapse of every star in the universe and the simultaneous birth of more. Hermann comes first, Newton’s name a breaking cry, a helpless moan; it is the fringes of a black hole, the horrifying calm just before death. His face pinches, his head falls forward into the comfort of Newton’s stocky shoulder. He feels as though his mind leaves his body and comes to rest in some other space that they’ve created for themselves between waking existence and sleeping.

He vaguely registers the frenzied buck of Newton’s hips against him as he, too, goes flying over the edge, fingernails digging little crescent shapes into Hermann’s hips. Hermann's toes curl, his thighs shake against Newton's thrusting hips. Newton moans his name, body trembling and spent, but it sounds far away, like Hermann is hearing him from underwater.

They stay like that, twisted in each other’s arms, their hearts slowing to a reasonable resting rate as they ride out the aftershocks together. Newt combs his fingers along the grain of Hermann’s overgrown haircut, the back beginning to curl like the hair over his ears but still shorter than the rest. His chest heaves against the concave surface of Hermann's own, bare where Newton is still clothed. Hermann locks his arms across Newton’s back, keeps his legs secured around his waist in spite of the fact that he feels Newt softening in him. His mind returns to his exhausted body, hovering, floating. Their neural link settles to a pleasant hum, a satisfied one-note song. He nuzzles the angles of his face into the soft crook of Newton’s neck.

“Where do we go from here, darling?” he mutters, fingers tracing swirls between Newt’s shoulder blades, along his silky vest. It is positively horrid, but Hermann cannot muster up the energy to tell him so. Every fight they'd had over the last handful of years, every spat about You-Don't-Have-Time-For-Me-Anymore-Newton and Jesus-Hermann-You're-So-Goddamn-Clingy - it all seems so far away now, something Hermann had watched happen to someone else. Newton leans back away from him to inspect the damage done, to pull himself from inside Hermann and disentangle himself from Hermann’s limbs like a bear trap. The worst of the mess is splattered across Hermann’s flat belly and the length of his thighs, sticky in some places and drying in others. He thinks perhaps Newton will send him to his apartment to shower, to wait for him, to have dinner with him later that evening. There is so much to catch up on, after all, years’ worth of research and diligent work to discuss.

The thought crosses Hermann's mind that they could very well spend the remainder of their evening much the way that their afternoon has turned out; it excites him, terrifies him, threatens to make him half-hard already. He imagines Newton's face pinched in pleasure, his hands in Hermann's hair, the city thrumming oblivious below and around them. Hermann supposes that Newton has silk sheets now, that he will still taste pleasantly, vaguely of salt when Hermann takes him in his mouth. 

Newt wrinkles his nose at the cum that sticks to the front of his vest, his shirt. Something hard and sharp has settled over his face like a mask, and it makes Hermann uneasy. Newt glances at his wrist, then seeming to recall all at once that he does not wear a watch, has never worn a watch, directs his gaze past Hermann’s body and to a point on the wall behind him.

“I've got like ten minutes to clean up, pal, so you'd better get goin’.” Newt motions to the heap of Hermann’s discarded pants, the spot where his cane lay forgotten on the ground.

“Newt-”

Hermann’s heart sinks, acid bubbling up in his stomach where just moments ago there had been the heat that accompanies pleasure and longing. He strains to regain a hold on their Drift bond before the crackling hum fades back into heartbreaking obscurity, but there is nothing left to reach for. Hermann shivers, suddenly cold in the minimalist lines of the room.

“It was fun, really,” he says, doing up the cuffs of his shirt, “loads of fun; but I got stuff to do. Oh, cmon, don't- don't look at me like that, buddy, you're killin' me. If you wanna drop by again some time, fine, but right now you gotta get outta here. Look, I'll always have time for you, Hermann- just not a lot."

**Author's Note:**

> big fat thank you to my best friend @prunewt on twitter for giving me this idea because this was a lot of fun. it's based on a line that got cut from pru where they're in the lab and newt says "i'll always have time for you hermann! just not a lot" because that shit hurts. you can find Me on twitter too @kaijubf


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